Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

61

           
Don't get me wrong, I was glad that this guy had completed the transformation back to human. I was beyond grateful for his help.

But I needed a defender who could ward off the other gargoyles not a naked stud-muffin.

I knew as soon as I thought it how selfish that made me. I had no idea what this guy had suffered. I should be trying to save all of Jonathan's victims.

The weight of responsibility almost bowled me over, but I couldn't topple now.

I scanned the room for any sign that the other gargoyles were reverting back to their human forms. Sure enough, I caught sight of the small gargoyle that had launched the first attack.

The claws on his hands and feet were slowly and painfully retracting. He writhed on the floor as his arms and legs jutted out, and then straightened to their human size and position. The grey hue of his body quickly faded, leaving pale, pasty skin in its wake.

The man rolled into a tight ball and clasped his ears, desperately trying to shut out the maniacal sound of the silver leaves. No longer driven to attack by the sound, agony and despair radiated off him in tangible waves.

To my dismay, he was the only one that had begun the transformation. The others continued to attack, and the little guy was beginning to attract attention.

They could tell that he was no longer one of them, that he was vulnerable. I watched in horror as one, and then another, and then another, tilted their heads in his direction, evaluating his soft flesh with cruel, hungry eyes.

My large naked friend saw it too. Picking up a gargoyle, he reached back and hurled it into the crowd. The others either scattered out of its path, or were knocked out of the way like bowling pins by the gargoyle-bowling ball hurtling towards them.

Without a pause, he seamlessly took up another and repeated the swinging movement. Each throw made a further indent in the direction we needed to move.

I had seriously misjudged this guy's skills in human form.

We inched towards the man, kicking out at any gargoyles that clambered over their prostrate brothers to get to us. Whenever I hit one, I swallowed the curse that wanted to burst out of me. Why the hell did these things have to be stone?

The man resisted my help, curling tighter into a ball on the floor. Wide black eyes darted from side to side, gaping at the monsters surrounding us. Sweating profusely, skin pale and waxy, he trembled violently.

I needed get him out, and soon.

Rows of gargoyles separated us from the area that the coven was breaking through. The path we had cleared was now littered with transforming bodies.

The distinct line of people at different stages of metamorphosis pointed directly to me.

"It's you," my large friend shouted in a deep, booming voice, "you have to touch them."

"What?"

"TOUCH THEM," he roared, losing patience.

He had every right, gargoyles were hanging off his arms and legs as he tried to keep the mob at bay. Blood was dripping from wounds inflicted by sharp claws and teeth.

I hoisted the small, frightened man up to a standing position, draping his arm round my neck, and steadying him round his waist. I started to move towards the shimmering, destabilized wall.

Placing my free hand on as many gargoyles as I could, and brushing against others, I tried to avoid the claws and teeth that darted out to snag me.

As soon as I touched one, it dropped to the floor, writhing as the transformation took over. It was happening faster now. Just the lightest contact set them off.

My waxy little naked friend was a dead weight on my shoulder. I was out of breath and sweating by the time I reached the shimmering wall. I lowered him to the ground as carefully as I could.

He dropped like a swatted fly and curled back into his tight ball.

Sighing, I put myself between him and the gargoyles, ready to do what I could to defend him.

Which wasn't going to be much, with no magic and no weapons.

A wide path of writhing people marked the way that I had come. Naked bodies with sallow skin and long, stringy hair.

But human bodies of flesh and skin. That was something.

I turned back to the wall. What now? Would the coven pull me out like they had last time? Would Emily be able to protect me from their greed?

The words of the White Paternoster wrapped around me as the chanting got louder. The familiar notes filled my head, clearing it of the maddening noise of the silver leaves.

My body relaxed into the rhythm as I whispered the words along with them. With each verse, the exhaustion lifted from my bruised and bleeding limbs.

As my voice joined the coven's incantation, the peace of unity, of belonging, settled over me for the first time in my life.

This was what I needed. What I'd been looking for. What my life-force had been seeking out.

Harmony.

The energy created by the old words flowed through the music of the White Paternoster from the coven into me. Silver glowed from my skin, particles multiplying, knitting together and traveling back along the channel of words to the witches of the coven.

My blood.

My family.

I felt it, the moment that my silver magic connected with theirs. The feeble wall of resistance erected by Hazel fizzling away to nothing in the web of my life-force.

That foolish woman. Didn't she know?

It's harmony that we all seek.

Harmony conducted by silver.